


the ghosts we carry

by Gnarled_Bone



Category: Oxenfree
Genre: F/F, Leave. Is. Possible., Panic Attacks, Polyamory. Is. Possible., Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide mentions, and alex has issues, is it amnesia or is it time-travel, kind of a fix-it?, maybe slowburn, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnarled_Bone/pseuds/Gnarled_Bone
Summary: They leave Edwards Island for good. They're all alive, all whole (technically speaking, if you discount the damage to their minds), except for Alex, who's taking home a little more than she expected.Alternative summary: Finally escaping the island, Alex has more than one voice in her head and several souls in her body.[Temporary hiatus. Planning to clean the existing chapters up when I can finally write on something other than my phone since my computer is a bust.]





	1. the vessel we choose

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing with my life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made.

Her life is a never ending “Ring Around the Rosie”, spinning, spinning, but never falling down—Alex tries so hard sometimes, to convince herself to fall down, but it goes again, again, and again (partly because she can't stand the thought of giving in). The static picks up in her head, crackling in her ears, and she’s back on the ferry, passing by reflections of herself that almost always say the same thing, because it’s the same Alex every time, the same loop, the same choices.

“Nothing ever changes,” Alex rasps to herself, and Jonas looks up because it’s the first time she’s said something of her own volition since they got off the ferry. Continuous prompting rewarded responses, sometimes, as evident when Clarissa prodded and poked until Alex confessed the reason as to her parents' divorce, but Alex hardly ever spoke up of her own will. Even when Clarissa jumped out the window, Alex kept herself quiet.

(Jonas doesn’t like to think about how Alex looked like she was going to leap too.)

“Hey. . . Hey, Alex? You okay there?” he asks. He's the only one with her right now. Clarissa is probably still sitting on the couch downstairs, out of sorts from the spiritual invasion, and the rest of their traumatized gang is searching Margaret Adler’s estate for the keys to the boat. Alex and Jonas were too—well, Alex pretended to, but Jonas stopped that moment to address her.

And as the question registers, Alex blinks, looking like she hadn't caught what he said, or like she's trying to figure out the best way to answer him.

She opens her mouth.

Closes it.

(She knows she has no words worth saying, because they will be forgotten. Her words don't mean anything, because there's never anyone else but her to remember them.)

Jonas moves closer. He and Alex, he likes to think, have bonded somewhat—at least a little. And sure, she’s practically gone mute since this whole ghost hunt started, and sure, he’s no Michael, but he feels like a brother anyways. That's what prompts him to ask, “Listen, are they messing with you? The ghosts?”

Alex shifts her weight to one hip, looking to him slowly. Her expression shows surprise; he hasn’t seen that look on her face before. Usually Alex displays only steadfast determination, and a bone-deep weariness coupled with a haggard protectivesness that makes him think _she’s_ the older sibling. Step-sibling. _Whatever_.

(But maybe that protectiveness comes from the fact that she's already lost a brother, and she doesn't want to lose this one, too.)

Anyway, she stops moving towards the chest that she knows holds the keys and tilts her head at him, eyes narrowing contemplatively. Answering truthfully won't help, won't result in anything, she knows.

So instead, she gives a confused smile and shrugs.

Of course, that doesn't reassure him. “I don’t know what’s going on Alex but ever since we stepped foot on this island—before it, even—you’ve been acting so weird that even I can tell it's not normal, and I've only just met you. And . . . I don’t know what it is. If the ghosts somehow managed to grab you before the radio thing, or they got you when you tuned in on the ferry, or even if it's something else. . .”

She has been acting weird, that's true. Even before the island, as he said. Once Alex tuned in on the boat, she heard something through the noise, something they didn't. Jonas had just thought she was playing around, joking with Ren, but then she started talking about 'deja vu' or whatever.

Then she stopped talking completely.

And after the portal, the confusion on her face disappeared. Her face was static, stuck on one setting, that being the sort of indifference one gets when their expression is drawn by an artist who can't do _feelings_ very well. 

Now, though, Alex is showing something, so deep in her thoughts that the intensity is etched onto her face.

Jonas breaks through her contemplation, cracking open the chest and rummaging through it. 

“Listen, Alex. We’re going to go home,” he tells her, giving her a small, uncertain grin. “We’re going to leave these spooks and Maggie Adler and Major. . . Dick Harden. . .” he coughs suspiciously, “behind. And look! See?"

He holds up a hand triumphantly, holding their ticket to percieved freedom. "We have the keys—once we’re out of here, no more real, live ghost stories. And you’ll be yourself again, the you that was before . . . all this. . ." Jonas gestures lamely to . . . everything.

"Now c’mon, let's tell magic boy and the others we got the keys." Jonas dangles the keys, smiling in a way that would have made Alex feel secure if she didn't already know there was no hope. But. . .

 _This is different,_ Alex thinks suddenly. Jonas never said this before. None of the loops had ever rendered her this conversation; she's been through it a dozen times, at least, long enough to pin down what each action does without doing it, and what each response elicits in reaction, but this time . . . was different. She thinks back on his words, new words in a sequence she hasn't heard before.

"Before", he had said.

_The me from before._

Alex shakes her head and follows Jonas down the stairs. "Before" was too far away, just like the future.

The pattern, broken by Jonas, returned. Jonas, Nona, and Ren, resting like corpses in the recently deceased woman’s estate. Clarissa, possessed. The cycle, continued.

Alex descends down the same ladder, as familiar to her as her own spine, rusty but still strong enough to withstand the burden despite how age had warped them both.

Alex tunes her radio into the tape player, and Jonas leaves her alone again.

Alex looks up at the triangles. She connects them, and she peers into the portal, already knowing what she'll see on the other side.

“ _You._ **Are.** _Familiar._ Now. _Have_ _we._   **S** **een** ** _._** Before _._ ”

Clarissa’s lips move. Alex stares, and remembers.

In other loops, those lips had moved against Alex’s own. Sometimes it was in a rage, accusation, or between tears as Clarissa lamented Michael’s fate while Alex wept for them all and pretended it was for the one who had been gone long before it all began. Those same lips that had touched hers now spoke disjointed words that have been heard far too many times before. It was the same message, broadcast over and over again, and the fragmented teenager inside Alex, nearly lost, craved for an end to the monotony.

But Alex says nothing in response, does nothing—not yet—as the Sunken hold Clarissa captive in her own body. The Sunken bargain as always, and Alex listens to the desperation in their warped voices and wonders when that will be her, talking in twisting pitches with longing and anger, holding the life of another captive.

Has she wondered this before? Wondered, worryingly, about when she'll be just another ghost that is forgotten?

Sometimes she thinks she already is. She stares down Clarissa, who's imprisoned, drowned in her own body like the victims on the USS Kanaloa as they sunk to the ocean bed.

And the victims who didn't drown, the victims who instead were trapped, and lonely, and wanting, becoming monsters in their desperation for freedom, tell her she knows nothing.

It's almost too much.

“Don't you think done this too many times?” Alex asks the living ghosts, exhausted. She watches as the Sunken make Clarissa’s streetlight red eyes blink (stop, stop—go). “I know you said it’d be like this. I didn’t know how hard it’d be then, but I do now. So you can't tell me I know nothing. I've been through this too many times not to know _everything_.”

“ _What_ _?_ ” the Sunken question. The warbling, the mix of voices, sets into one singular tone, startled into synchronization. Realization sets in as they observe Alex, her nonchalance, consitent even now, with growing comprehension. Nonchalance, like she already knows the outcome.

Nonchalance, like this was a game she's played too many times, a game that had no end, no resolution.

_No happy ending._

They remember her.

“ _You are. . ._ _trapped. Like_ ** _us_** **.** ”

 _Of course I am,_ Alex wants to say. _F_ _or years,_ she wants to add, but she can't be sure how many. She's been through this night and the following year or so at least a dozen times, but she stopped counting afterwards because what did it matter? The loops are loops, and nothing ever ends.

The Sunken don’t remember every loop like she does, but sometimes they get little nigglings, she's sure. They’re so disconnected, struggling to separate from the void, that sometimes they forget. But when they do pull together, do remember, they can tell the passage of time better than she can; they have nothing else to do but count, count, count, like they kept count of the passengers that were on the Kanaloa. They never tell her the exact amount, the number of loops she's spun uncontrollably through, even when they're feeling generous. Maybe they were just trying to weaken her, tear her down by letting her contemplate how long she's been trapped. 

Maybe they were being merciful.

The thought doesn't deter her. No matter what they say, Alex keeps setting up the timelines so that her friends can go on happily without her, if any of the loops let them. She was going through this for them, and she’d end it by doing it for them too—if there ever was an end. She remembers so much about them that she forgets the rest: the face of her father, divorced from her mother; the grief and guilt she felt from having lost Michael; what she wanted to do with her life after high school the first time around.

None of these memories mattered when faced with the horrors of Edwards Island. All of it was gone, and all that remained were Jonas, Clarissa, Nona, and Ren.

“Yes. I'm trapped," Alex finally answers, "but on the other side. Forced to repeat this night again and again. Forever,” Alex adds, "because of you."

She used to be bitter. Bitter, and hateful, and desperate, just like them.

Now, she's just tired.

“ _That. Side._ ” the Sunken murmur to themselves but Alex hears anyway. " _Doomed. To repeat? Like. Us?_ ”

Alex gazes into the depths. She felt that this scene was progressing differently than it typically would, but she also feels like she’s drowning in the darkness that surrounds them as she gazes at the wreckage of the USS Kanaloa. None of it mattered. “Yeah . . . just like you.”

There is a pause as they digest this revelation. Then, Clarissa’s body slinks off the ledge above Alex. The overshadowed girl floats through the rippling waters of this dimension towards Alex, all odd angles and distorted features. Alex turns to watch this, utterly confused, for never has the Sunken drifted so closely to her in this realm, _their_ realm.

She is too tired too move away, though, and too uncaring to be concerned for herself.

“ _If._ We. _Are stuck. **You.** Are stuck. Why. Not. _ Compromise?” the Sunken suggest, twisting Clarissa's neck in a manner unfit for humans.

“Compromise?”

“ _We are. Remembering._ We can. **Change** ** _._** _Something._ ” the dissonance in the Sunken’s many voices returned as they spoke. It reminds her of the static, but Alex has grown not to cringe at the likeness. “ _Do_ not. _Want._ To. **Repeat.** _History._ ”

Alex shuffles her booted feet, which leads to her kicking up a cloud of muddy water. Feeling the phantom pressure of the ocean weigh down her body, she asks wearily, “What do you want, then?”

Clarissa’s face closes in, the baleful red of the Sunken's influence dimming in her eyes. “ _Do not._ Close. _Rift._ ”

The cycle continues, then.

Alex sighs, a frothy mess of bubbles escaping her, and moves to back away and reach for her radio, because she _can't not close it, she has to keep Clarissa safe, don't they see?_  

Before she can complete the habitual motions of tuning her radio, the Sunken _grab_ Alexand pull her close with too long fingers and snapping wrists. So close, Alex can feel the Sunken shove Clarissa's broken body against her, managing to wrestle her hands away from the radio for only a moment.

Alex grits her teeth, realizing the magnitude of her mistake, realizing this could be a loop where she fails, but she's more athletic than Clarissa and the Sunken are only using a body weaker than Alex. Overcoming her surprise, Alex makes to push the possessed girl off of her.

“ _Get off_ —!”

To her surprise, the Sunken willingly step away, but don't release her, and before Alex can jump away and tune the radio into that one damning frequency that will ruin them both as always, the Sunken shriek.

“No! No.  _Do not. Close._ **Rift.** _We will._ Leave. Girl.”

And Alex can't help it—she stills in their grip. She's poised to continue their fruitless war to end the loops their way, should the Sunken make any untoward move, and eyes them slowly.

The Sunken pause at her uneasy submission, after, a weighty silence that nearly makes Alex bristle and end it despite her curiosity. 

“We will. _Join. **Y**_ ** _ou_** **.** ”

And—that. That's different. Something she's never thought of before. Why hadn't she?

_Why hadn't she?_

Because wouldn't that solve all their problems? No more loops. No more misery on either end. Alex could rest, and the Sunken could be free. Wouldn't this give them both what they want?

She stares, considering. The words are new, the situation foreign, but she's old enough, experienced enough, to know when the Sunken are being genuine and when they are not. What they are proposing is exactly as it sounds, but more than that, even as tired as she is and cautious of their intentions, she feels a tiny margin of hope. It is the same kind of hope that plagued Jonas, hearing the song of his mother, driving him into a place where she could not watch. It is the hope that has her doubting herself now.

If they join her, it _will_ end. They will have what they want, and Alex will be free of this. Maybe. Dead or alive, the loops would end.

Isn't this what she's been fighting for? Waiting for, all these years?

And the tired, crying kid in her says, _Yeah. It is._

With that in mind, Alex does something she's never done before.

She turns off her radio.


	2. the truth falls out of an open mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is on the boat to Camena. She feels different, she is different, but no one knows how different she is, even if she admits bits of the truth. 
> 
> She won't tell anyone what's inside of her. Not when it's so hard just for her to even believe she's free. She wants to believe.
> 
> a.k.a. Nona knows how to handle a fall and I don't know how to effing write Clarissa even though I really want to and I eff everything up because I'm a **** writer.

Alex shudders awake, rising only for a moment to check her surroundings. She’s on the ferry again, in the cabin of it, but was it to or from Edwards Island?

Seeing Clarissa and Nona sitting quietly side-by-side tells her where she is in regards to the timeline.

Laying back down, she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes.

She doesn’t cry.

“You okay?” Nona asks.

Alex lowers her hands and looks up in time to see Clarissa close her mouth and tilt her head away, trying to conceal the concern on her face. _Was she going to ask me the same thing?_  Alex wonders, then stops herself. Nona is watching Alex, a worried crease between her brows.

“Obviously she’s not,” Clarissa mutters in lieu of saying anything to Alex directly.

Clarissa is right, though (always right). Alex isn’t okay. Alex doesn’t know what she is, but she is so, so so _so_ far from okay that it isn’t funny. Or maybe it is, would be, could be if she remembered how humor felt.

She never knew what to feel these days, other than resignation. 

But this time _feels_ different. Maybe Alex was dreaming, and they were on the ferry, sailing towards graduation and college and maybe death and then the next rewind — but she felt like this time was final. She feels the sea wind more clearly than she ever had in any other loop. She smells the salt. She feels, keenly, like she's a person, not an actor, as she sits in a space with two girls who no longer feel like puppets. 

She feels alive. She pushes herself up with an elbow and pinches herself with the other arm. 

It hurts.

Clarissa glances at her, noticing her action, looking _sympathetic_ , but Alex is too busy staring at her hands.

 _“Leave. Is. Possible_.” The words resound through Alex’s head, and she chokes on her own tongue as she bolts up fully. There is a pressure, somewhere, in her, in her head, between her ribs, in her lungs, and she is drowning. The attack is sudden, like all others, and all she can do is heave as she realizes she can  _feel them_ , trapped inside of her like wasps, flighty and crawling and gearing up to sting her.

_“Join. You. Not trapped. Anymore.”_

Alex can't breathe.

“You’re _ver_ _y_ not okay,” Clarissa barely spits out, lacking in venom and growing in concern when Alex hunches over. Clarissa jumps up and moves in tandem with Nona as the boys pile in just in time to watch Alex have another one of her breakdowns.

This time Alex doesn’t think they’re going to forget.

_“No. Repeat. Do not. Worry. Blue hair. Girl. We are. All. Free.”_

“Now’s not the time,” Nona scolds quickly, but whereas Clarissa looks actually restless and helpless in the face of Alex’s fit, Nona moves forward and tells Alex shakily, “Breathe in.”

And Alex, teeth chattering from the phantom chill of the ocean, does. She knows what to do, but Nona will have to forgive her if she's a teensy bit distracted by the decades old ghosts inside of her.

 _It’s unfair_ , Alex thinks bitterly, as she follows Nona’s instructions of “one, two, three, and exhale,” because Alex should not be doing this, she hasn’t done this in so long, through so many loops, so why now? Why now, when the loop has apparently, finally, ended?

“You’re having a panic attack,” Nona says unhelpfully, trying to be helpful. Alex is wracked with tremors and is staring at nothing in particular, still quiet, sans the heaving gasps and choking, honing in on Nona's words and thinking, _wouldn’t it be an anxiety attack? What's the difference?_

“What do we do?” Jonas demands. He shoves his way, although not harshly, past Ren, who barks out an agitated “hey!”, and approaches Alex.

Nona glares at him. “For one, you can not crowd her,” she snaps out stressfully, turning away from him only when he steps back in acquiescence. “Look at me, Alex.”

Alex does, feeling sluggish and wrong, more so than usual.

“We’re not on the island anymore. We’re on a ferry back to Camena, okay? You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Alex can’t help it. She laughs. “No, I’m _fucking. . . not._ ”

Nona winces, although raising her eyebrows along with everyone else as Alex discards her muteness, and Clarissa, standing behind her, steps around her to stare at Alex. “Chill out Alex. She’s trying to _help_.”  
  
“Nothing. . . can. . . _help_.” Alex wheezes out, and then sobs, breath hitching painfully. It turns into another stuttered laugh as she hears the Sunken in her head, commenting on how displeased they would be if their recently won freedom would be so soon ripped away by Alex suffocating.

“Alex, you’re kind of freaking me out right now,” Ren admits, raising his hand. His face is pale and his eyes were wide. “More than when you were weirdly quiet."

It only makes Alex laugh harder, so hard she’s crying and she _can’t breathe because she’s the one who’s freaking out can’t they tell—_

Nona hisses at Ren to shut up in a panic as Alex hyperventilates. Clarissa, looking like she has no idea what to do, slaps Alex.

She stops laughing.

The Sunken are quiet.

“What the fuck are you doing!” Jonas bellows, moving to grab Clarissa, but Clarissa pins him down with only a stare and a harried gesture, using the same stinging hand, to point towards Alex. That has him staring at his sister in concern, but he still scowls at Clarissa when she steps away.

“What? It _helped_.”

Indeed, Alex wasn't laughing anymore. Instead she sat, blinking with clarity growing in her eyes.

Nona sighs in frustration, rubbing her face. “I don’t know if that was necessary Clarissa but I won’t deny that it was effective.”

“Damn right it wasn’t necessary,” Jonas growls out heatedly.

"Seriously uncool," Ren pipes, looking offended on Alex's behalf.

Tensely, Clarissa bites her lip. Alex has learned her tells.

Clarissa is worried, and  _guilty_.

The whole scene is ridiculous. Her cheek stings painfully, but it anchors Alex to the present and  _not the past._ She looks around as they stare her, and she stares at them. The awkward silence is enough to make Ren look constipated.

Alex can't resist the urge to smile. It cuts across her face, aching because she hasn't smiled in so long, but it feels. . . good. 

Her friends look relieved.

_This. It never happened. It’s different._

And that fact actually makes Alex relax, losing the tension that hasn’t left since the first night on Edwards Island. “We’re really out. . . ?”

Clarissa keeps shrewd eyes on her, hiding her concern, before dropping the hand used to slap her to her pocket. She pulls out a packet, then a cigarette, which she lights. “Yeah. We’re off that hellhole island.” With a pause, the redhead considers a thought as she takes a pull on the cancer stick. “We’re probably headed to a mental hospital though. At the very least, _you_ are.” Clarissa claims, but after all that’s happened, they can tell it’s only a weak tease. Her words lack the usual vitriol that drips off her tongue. “. . . And I’ll be the next in line.” 

Clarissa's just tired, now, too.

"Uh, I think we all need to go," Ren interjects, folding his arms.

If only they knew Alex, knew how much she needed help, needed to crawl out of this husk that had become her shell and peel off her mask so she could be herself again.

But looking at them, Alex knew they didn’t. They didn’t know the Alex that recalled the history of the island like she read it out of a textbook, or the Alex that snorted at _Major Dick Hardens,_ or the Alex that brought her fists up and shook them in excitement for a scavenger hunt, jumping in place like a hyper puppy.

They only know the Alex who hardly spoke, mouth clamped shut and words stolen away due to her past, a past that kept repeating.

At least, until now.

_They don’t know me._

That realization hurt more than drowning ever did.

Alex watches as Jonas, looking torn for several minutes in the awkward silence, eventually and nervously shuffles towards Clarissa, staring at the cigarette in her hands longingly and with frustration. “I know we’re not exactly pals, but can I bum a stick off you?”

Clarissa doesn’t stop to consider it. She slowly pulls out her pack, slim fingers prying open the lid, and pulls the only white stick left out, handing it to Jonas, who takes it eagerly. “Don’t thank me,” she mutters.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Jonas replies. “I wasn’t going to.” But from the look in his eyes, Alex can tell he’s lying.

“So, that’s weird. That’s a thing that I have seen.” Ren laughs awkwardly at Clarissa’s and Jonas’ almost-friendly interaction. “God I need more brownies.”

“What, was being on a haunted island not enough of a trip for you, pothead?” Jonas snarks.

“Pothead is _sooo_ unoriginal, Malfoy.”

The mood lightens. As the two boys dissolve into bickering, Clarissa moves to lean over the railing and Nona moves to sit beside Alex.

“Um, I know it’s a stupid question, but how are you?” the typically timid girl asks.

Alex, taken aback, pauses for a moment to think, but she can’t form an answer. She shrugs and retaliates with a question of her own, “How did you. . . know what to do? During my freak out.”

God, talking was a challenge when Alex spent so many loops staying shut up. It was hard enough raising her voice enough for Nona to hear her, but she wanted to know. She knew so much but this was something about Nona that she's never discovered.

Nona smiles slowly.

“Well, you know I'm shy. Before Clarissa I was even worse, though. A wallflower almost, like in the movie?”

Alex can’t remember a movie dealing with wallflowers — can’t remember many movies, actually — but she nods anyways like she knows what Nona’s talking about.  _What was the last movie I watched?_ Alex asked herself curiously. She couldn't recall.

“Anyway, I had a case of anxiety. Talking in class, talking to people, even being around them was hard. Even with Clarissa in the picture I kind of stuck to the sidelines. And sometimes I had attacks, you know, because I was about to go up to the board to present, or I had to ask a teacher for work I missed because I skipped classes. I'd wait for my name to be called, knowing I'd have to speak in front of everyone, and the anxiety made my heart beat hard in my chest and made it hard to breathe. So I know how to deal with them, because I've had them before.”

“Huh, I wouldn't have guessed. . . You skipped classes because you were practicing ballet, right?” Alex wonders, absent-mindedly.

Nona shifts, surprised, and turns to face Alex fully. “How did you — did I tell you that? I don’t remember telling you that.”

Alex widens her eyes, realizing her mistake, before she hurries to explain it away. “The store. When we went together. You told me then, I think.” _Or was it before? Dammit._ Alex wasn't going to be able to keep track of the loops, she never was, but now she knew that not being able to could cause problems.

“Mmm, I don’t remember. . .” her friend mutters, and the way Nona looks at Alex makes her think the other girl doesn’t quite believe her. Which is totally unfair, because it definitely happened, even if she can’t remember because it literally didn’t happen.

_Wait._

_“No. Sense.”_

Unnoticed by her friends, Alex flinches at the voices in her head. _No one asked you for your input,_ thanks.

”Anyways, yeah, that’s about it. I had to learn what to do on my own, in case my parents weren’t there to help me. Anchors and being reminded you’re okay and stuff helps, at least for me.”

“Huh,” Alex hums, interested.

“At least you’ve finally started talking again,” Clarissa says, having approached them unnoticed. Nona jumps and Alex freezes, but she forces herself to relax, realizing that she doesn’t hear the static that had once plagued Clarissa. "Kind of."

Speaking of static, Alex risks a glance around, wondering _Where’s the radio?_ when Clarissa sits, surprisingly, on the other side of her, instead of beside Nona.

Alex stares.

“What?” Clarissa barks out. “Got a problem with where I sit?” she asks, but with an almost visible, almost uncertain smirk.

As Alex opens her mouth to reply, the vision of a figure overlaps with Clarissa. It is Clarissa, but her eyes are red.

_“We. Left. Girl. Wake up.”_

“No problem,” she stammers out while averting her gaze for a moment, returning it only when the vision dissipated. Clarissa is the one staring now, and her eyes have dimmed in more ways than one.

“You okay?”

Alex manages a crooked smile. “Never thought you’d be the one to ask me that. Finding compassion somewhere beyond all that biting wit?”

“Yeah, we might be the ones who should be asking _you_ that, Clarissa,” Nona grins.

Clarissa shrugs, smoke wafting and curling around her features from the cigarette in her mouth. “What can I say,” she throws out. “You guys grew on me. Like tics. Blood-sucking, irritating tics.”

“That’s nice.”

“Don’t think I don’t notice you trying to avoid the question, Alex.”

Her blue ponytail swishes as she looks away. “I'm not. . ." At Clarissa's look, Alex relents. "I don't really know if I’m okay. For you guys—” Alex stilled. _What could a little truth hurt?_ “Y’know all the weird time stuff that went on?”

She felt the two girls shift around her, directing their attention towards her, a silent confirmation transferred through their collective gaze that said _yes_ , they did know about the timey-wimey fun rides.

“Well,” Alex stammered.

" _Well_ , what?" Clarissa demands.

Alex gathers up her worn out courage and confesses, "This isn't the first time I've been through this night. I've kinda been looping through it for a while. But. . . this is the last time, though."

“Knew I didn’t tell you about the ballet practice,” Nona mutters. Alex blinks at her due to her weak reaction.

Clarissa has a more expected reaction; she rears back. “So wait, you knew all of that. . . all of this was going to happen?”

“No. . . and yes. Sort of. It's complicated. I didn’t remember any of it until the portal was opened. Like every other time.” Alex admits, before catching on that,  _shit,_ that was too much info.

"You cannot beserious!"

Clarissa grabs Alex’s shoulder and turns her, raising her voice loud enough that Jonas and Ren break away from their arguing to listen in. “How many times — how—!” Clarissa hisses then, fingers aching to rub at her temples because the oncoming headache that Alex was causing. Alex watches on in concern, but she expected this. She knows Clarissa, and knows that she will be angry, more than angry; she will be accusing.

“Alex. How many times have _you_ been through this night? How many times has this happened to _us_? How much is a _while_ _?_ ” Clarissa demands, leaning close enough that Alex gets flashbacks of her lips—

_grinding against hers, furious, “It's your goddamn fault!”_

_pressing, wet, Alex’s lips rough in comparison, plundered alcohol distorting the taste_ _, “Michael. . .”_

_against her cheek, “You didn’t let them have me.”_

_warping, static, “We. Join. You.”_

_forming a secret message, intermingled with three other voices, hidden in the static; this is the message only Alex hears._   _“How many times have you hurt us because of that radio?”_

Alex lets out a breath like she just broke through the surface of the ocean after being pushed under for too long. “Too many,” she whispers. Then, louder. “Too many. I forgot. So many times, I watched it, and I used the radio, and they got you. All of you. Over and over again.”

And like the building tide that fails to become a wave, Alex eventually breaks, never reaching culmination.

“ _I'm sorry._ ”

And Alex feels that broken wave spill from her eyes, tears that have been held back for years cascading down her cheeks, wetting her eyelashes. She curls up, hides her face, hides the decade(s)-old tears that fall without her consent, and cries harder still, remarkably silent, which makes it hurt worse.

And Clarissa watches, stone-faced, pondering.

The others don’t know what to do. No one does.

Entwined with Alex’s soul, the Sunken watch, and they wait.


	3. a case of lost sanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hit shore, but the island will always follow them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STRESS
> 
> Happy Holidays ^.^

Even when crying, Alex has this stubborn ability to stay as quiet as possible. Sometimes a sharp hitch in her breath sounds out, which makes the tears fall faster, but the time looper swiftly reins in her voice and the emotions on her face. The tears dry almost as quickly as they come and not even half an hour later the silence that followed the girl all night returns.

It pisses Clarissa off.

 _Why won't you just_ talk, _Alex?_

Normally, the quiet is a comfort when she's around Alex. Less talking meant less effort used to skirt around the topic of Michael, because all Alex did was tiptoe around it, despite Michael being her own brother.

Now, though, the quiet only reminds Clarissa of last night: of how uncharacteristically quiet Alex has been, of how irritating it was to be ignored, of the reason _why_ Alex was so quiet.

The waves beat at the hull of the stolen boat. Clarissa's hand drops to her pocket, the itch for a cigarette hitting her, but then she remembers why her pocket is unbearable empty: she gave her last to Jonas. She rubs her eyes wearily and groans out a disgruntled, "Fuck."

Great. Alex drops a bombshell on all of them and Clarissa doesn't even have a smoke to calm her nerves afterwards.

Nona fidgets, but she’s falling asleep even still, head resting on Clarissa's shoulder. Clarissa lifts a hand, rubbing the girl's head through her beanie. Ren is huddled up on the other corner of the boat, knees drawn to his chest. Jonas is manning the helm. And Alex—

Alex is sitting, wrapped tight around herself, like she was in pieces and it was all she could do to hold herself together. She had been glaring at her jean-clad knees, but a glance back that leads to her catching Clarissa staring has her eyes focusing elsewhere — namely, on Clarissa.

Clarissa starts for a second, seeing red in Alex's gaze, but a blink leaves her staring at the brown shade that matched Michael's eyes, and Clarissa tells herself that the red is from the tears Alex cried.

There is no static.

Alex continues looking at Clarissa even when Clarissa averts her gaze downwards to Nona, who lets out a breezy huff. She can feel those eyes boring into her.

"Where is — um," Alex pauses. She doesn't seem like she wants to finish, but she pushes through it anyway. "Where is the radio?"

Ren answers in Clarissa's stead, trying for humor. "Overboard. Jonas chucked it like a used condom."

Jonas hisses from his spot at the wheel. "Dude, that's gross!"

Even while Ren's weak joke fails to garner even a smile, Clarissa can't help but feel her spirits lift at the reminder of the discarded radio. Never before has Clarissa felt so relieved to see something vanish from her life — honestly, she could happily go her whole life without seeing another radio. It wouldn't bother her one iota.

"It's brought us enough trouble," Clarissa grumbles towards her knees but looks up in time to see Alex nod minutely in response. "Why did you want to know, anyway?"

Alex takes a moment to answer, looking entirely put out by its absence. "I've never woken up without it before."

There's a gap in their conversation, then, at the reminder of Alex's plight.

"How many times have you 'woken up'?" Jonas asks quietly, startling Clarissa. She feels Nona shift —  _obviously, not as asleep as Clarissa thought_ — and sees Ren perk up.

Alex doesn't react save for tilting her head towards him. Then she tilts it up, peering out the window of the ferry's cabin so that she's looking at the sky. Her eyebrows furrow and Clarissa can tell Alex is mentally counting. Eventually, she rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "I lost count around the thirteenth time. Too many graduations and applications to colleges, I guess."

Jonas doesn't say anything. Clarissa can't see his expression.

"That. . . sucks. A lot. I'm sorry." Ren says plainly; for once, he can't find the words he wants to say. He's not going to comment on the fact that Alex could be anywhere from thirty to fifty years old — that is a festering wound far too raw to touch on, even in jest.

Alex doesn't reply. Clarissa doesn't know if anyone could, after being faced with that.

Later, everyone manages a grin at the sight of Camena, that is, until they notice that, no, everyone isn't smiling. Alex is very much not smiling as she hangs her upper body over the railing of the boat — instead, she's clutching her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt not to throw up.

"What's the matter, Alex? Lost your sealegs?" Ren asks in genuine concern, as awful as he phrases it.

Alex shakes her head. Jonas leaves the wheel, gesturing for Ren to take it, and moves to support her.

Nona does the same, hands going up and then back to keep Alex's ponytail out of her face. "It might be anxiety."

"So PTSD can cause vomiting? _Great,_ " Clarissa gripes, inwardly wanting to help but not knowing how.

"Feeling sick is more common than throwing up," Nona says but the point is moot when Alex's body finally buckles in on itself and expels everything Alex cannot even remember eating.

Clarissa snorts in frustration. "Well, I guess this just makes Alex even more special."

"Jesus, Clarissa, can you chill your beans for even a _little_ bit?" Ren groans. "She's throwing up!"

"Hey, I didn't say anything negative," Clarissa defends, but there may actually be a trace of shame in her voice; Ren actually can't tell.

Before they can get into it, Alex is lightly pushing Nona's and Jonas' hands away from her, evidently out of stomach contents to hurl into the sea. She doesn't dare bring the sleeve of her deceased brother's jacket to her mouth — instead, she slides it back with one hand and wipes her mouth on the back of her wrist, then wipes her sullied wrist against her jeans. "I'm fine, I'm okay. I just want to get off this thing, _please and thank you_. I've had enough with boats and seas and islands."

Ren snorts, "You and me both, sistah."

Clarissa refrains from wrinkling her nose, both at the lack of hygeine and Ren's statement, and tries bot to scoff at Alex's lie.

"You don't look fine," Jonas snarks but steps back anyway to find a place to dock the boat, grabbing the wheel back from Ren. The sky has lightened up — the seemingly everlasting night has finally ended.

Clarissa and Nona keep their eye on Alex. The girl looks pale and drawn out, but the queasiness seems gone. Nona moves to sit beside her. Hesitating, Clarissa takes a moment to follow her example, but keeps about a foot of distance between her and Alex.

"Are you still feeling sick, Alex?" Nona asks, tentatively running her hand along Alex's back. This boat ride might be the first time Nona's actually even _touched_ Alex. It feels awkward, especially with what Nona saw in the forest, but, given how quiet Alex had been during the whole thing, Nona knows for certain that it wasn't the real Alex who said those things to her. The girl was quiet, not cruel; truthfully, despite her silence, Nona could feel her watching out for them with keens eyes like a haggard mama bear who had already lost too many cubs and wasn't ready to give up more.

But apparently keen eyes didn't mean keen ears for their mama bear. Alex doesn't appear to hear Nona at first until Clarissa repeats Nona's question (with far more rudeness and volume). "Still feeling like showing us your insides, Alex?"

Alex's eyes are glazed before they sharpen in on her companions. She eventually shakes her head in a negative.

"That's good," Nona mutters, glancing around at Ren and Jonas and wondering how they were holding up.

The boat jerks. Jonas hits the pier.

"Land ahoy," Jonas chimes dryly.

"Woo!" Ren bolts up and makes to jump over the railing. He slips. He falls sideways into the water. His loud "Fuck!" is preceded by a large splash, before he splutters back to the surface and lurches for the edge of the pier. "It's so cold! I am very much cold!"

Jonas almost doubles over with surprised laughter and Alex actually snorts. "I think that's at least the fifth time you've fallen," she says with a smile.

Well. Nona's giggles trails off and she glances at the formerly smirking, now frowning, Clarissa.

Alex jumps ship before anyone can even think to help her off, considering how pale she looked. Her brown skin had lightened to the point that it seemed that a doctor had taken a bit too much blood, accompanied by the unsteadiness that came with such a condition to boot. She pulled herself onto the pier in a more cautious, practiced motion than Ren anyhow, and then holds out her hands to help Nona, Clarissa, and then Jonas up. She doesn't use the hand that she used to wipe her mouth with.

Ren glares sullenly at Alex after he pulls himself up, shivering.

"What?" Alex asks, managing a smirk. "Not my fault you didn't wait, buddy."

Ren huffs.

They stand there, looking at each other for a moment.

"What now?" Ren asks, specifically directing his question to Alex, who has been through this many times already.

She blinks slowly. "We go home."

"And then what?" Clarissa asks. "We just pretend this never even happened? Really?"

Alex shrugs. "Well, yeah. We go to school. We graduate. And we never, ever, talk about this with anyone but each other."

Ren blinks. "Don't we need, like, therapy though? Shouldn't we tell someone we are emotionally traumatized teens?" Somehow, he sounds serious — but he has gone to therapy before.

“What are you, stupid?” Clarissa mocks. “Like they won't ask why. I know how therapists work — like sane people who know better than you, and considering your rep, they're going to think it was just a bad trip.”

"If you want to edge around the truth the whole time or be locked up, which is frankly not fun from personal experience," Alex points out dryly, "then go ahead."

That takes the others aback.

"What?" Nona quietly asks. She's sure she heard Alex wrong, but then that'd mean everyone misheard her because they flinch too.

Alex lets out a chuckle. "Well, what do you expect — 'doctor, I went to a haunted island with my friends and we all got possessed at least once by ghosts from the USS Kanaloa who wanted to steal our bodies, please return me to mental stability'? They will absolutely believe that, no problem."

"They put you in a hospital?" Jonas growls.

Alex raises an eyebrow. Her ensuing smile is shiny and threatening, and Jonas swears he can see _red eyes like Clarissa_ on her, but he must be seeing things, because, like a figure in his peripheral vision, the sight vanishes. Alex is smiling normally and there are no red eyes, no static. She nods almost serenely. "Of a sort. They didn't do much 'helping' there, but I guess the needles they stuck me with were great at getting me to sleep."

Jonas glances at the others, his lips pulled down in displeasure. Ren and Nona are frowning softly, but Clarissa is flat out scowling, expression pinched with anger.

"What the hell, why would you even tell anyone?" Clarissa demands, furious for reasons she, herself, doesn't understand. "I should have called _you_ stupid instead of drug magician over here!"

"Hey!" Ren squawks weakly. "That's rude."

"Too many loops can make you loopy, I guess," Alex laughs, self-deprecating. "I needed to talk, to get it out of my head.”

“You didn’t think to talk to us?” Clarissa asks in frustration.

“Sometimes I did,” Alex admits. “But you always forgot. And it was always the same thing, the same reactions, every time. So I tried something else. And I was kind of hoping they could actually do something. Make _me_  forget.”

“And you got locked up for it!” Clarissa bursts, unable to contain herself. “Are you crazy?”

"Crazy?" Alex's brown eyes widen. She appears to consider it, but then her expression becomes mocking, a false stretch of her lips showing too many teeth. “Maybe. I sure felt like it, which is probably why I did it again, and again.”

"Don't fucking mess around, Alex!"

Alex stares at her. Her eyes are still wide — her iris is fully visible. "Who says I'm joking?" Her grin sharpens. "I've been through last night and this year, and the next, and sometimes the year _after_ that, well over a dozen times. I've gone _to college_. Never got to graduate. I'm practically forty-plus-something years old in my head while stuck in the body of a teenager. I've watched the people I care about get possessed and die _over and over again_. How is any of this _sane_? You're asking the wrong questions, here: you should be asking how I'm still standing in front of you, sane enough to realize how fucked up everything is."

And that smile, the smile that Jonas had thought he saw, returns, a frightening reality. There is no question about it, now. Alex, wearing that terrible expression, looking immeasurably young and scared and then old and tired beyond all logic, is on the brink. She has been all night, but Jonas only notices it now when someone (the person in question) has spelled it out for them. Jonas berates himself internally for being a bad step-brother — and he's only just become one.

Meanwhile, Clarissa grits her teeth, bares them at her like she has fangs and is prepared to pounce, but Nona nervously puts a hand on her shoulder to dissuade her from whatever course of action she has in mind. Ren shifts uncomfortably, eyes flitting back and forth, still dripping from his dip into the sea.

They realize they are in the oresence of someone,  _something_ , dangerous.

And they are afraid.

Alex smiles grimly and the Sunken flash behind her eyes.

Better to start making them wary of her now, before the Sunken pull something, Alex thinks.

Yes, maybe this time, if Alex dies, she will stay dead.

Alex had long since forgotten her mother's number, and her phone's passcode. It was never really important when she'd just reset all over again, and it's been two years since she's used this phone. She's ready to walk home when Clarissa orders everyone into her car. Nona was already in.

Alex eyes the sleek, well-maintained vehicle warily. She's not sure about Clarissa's concern for her this time around, hidden within all the rage she's displayed.

"Get. _In._ " Clarissa orders harshly. Ren immediately complies, but Alex is not so obedient, still wondering about the enigma that was Clarissa, free from the loops.

Jonas, though appearing cautious himself, pushes Alex in anyways. She manages to bump her head on the way in and shoots a glare at her apologetic stepbrother.

"And buckle up. I'm not getting a ticket because of your suicidal asses." For the most part, that was directed not-so-subtly at Alex.

Either way, they do.

The ride is smooth, quiet, and somehow very much calming. The car smells like stale cigarette smoke and pine trees from the scent diffuser attached to the car's AC. Alex takes in the town that has served as her home for all her life, even though now it feels alien in the worst ways.

Alex manages to remember the directions to her house in the time it takes Clarissa to drive them to it, but it doesn't really matter when Clarissa has known it already and remembers it better than her. Alex steps out of the car after Jonas. Nona and Ren wave at them.

Clarissa stares forward, jaw tense.

Alex feels compelled. She goes to the driver side door, gestures for Clarissa to roll it down. After a few seconds, it does.

" _What?_ "

"Thanks, for the ride. And — well, nevermind. Goodnight. Or good morning. I guess."

Alex awkwardly steps back. She shuts her mouth — she's good at doing that, sometimes. Clarissa watches her, angry and confused and ready to interrogate her, but Alex bolts off before she can shoot off a word. Jonas stares after Alex, puzzled himself, before muttering his own thanks for the ride and the cigarette. He walks into the house.

Clarissa sits there long enough for the attic light to come on, staring at the curtains that stop people from peering into Alex's house. Finally, after Ren asks when he's getting dropped off, her shoulders droop and she drives off.

As Clarissa's car rounds the corner, Alex pokes her head out of the curtains and wonders.


	4. quiet, or they will know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of school since they've returned from Edwards island, and Alex can't even last past lunch.
> 
> She never did go to the nurse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched all twelve episodes of Izetta in seven hours yesterday morning. Despite the tropes, I absolutely loved it and I have a thirst for izefi/finetta so, maybe that will happen if I write another fic anytime soon. They have such a beautiful relationship—it reminds me of nanofate so much. I do believe I annoyed my friend for texting them at 4:00 am in the morning to rant about it and the dark moments that came up. I believe one text was something along the lines of, "Psycho witch with atomic bombs". Take that however you will. :)))))
> 
> Anyways, here's the weird plot thing I have going on, along with some nudges to that poly tag. Tell me if I'm screwing things up. >.>

Returning to school has never been _easy_ for Alex, but it wasn’t exactly difficult. She’s spent years here, junior, then senior (then on to college) in ways no one other than her and the Sunken can understand, repeating the same process until it’s less about knowing and more about muscle memory, or memory in general. Instinctively, her mouth forms the words others want to hear, as they have every other time. She says names to forgotten faces she decided there was no point in remembering.

Camena High School is like a well worn path — one she has tread many times before, but one that has no other use than to get her to her next destination — that next destination typically being back to Edwards Island in what was seemingly a loop that would never end.

Yes, school was not difficult, but it was certainly not easy when the instincts failed her and she sat at the wrong desk, entered the the wrong class at the wrong period, and struggled to remember how many times the bell had to ring before it signalled lunch time or the end of the day. Each loop made her forget, and sometimes she got different classes her senior year than her previous run of it.

And sometimes, when anxiety struck and she needs _away_ , _away from everyone who would be younger than her in ways they could not understand_ , her tongue sat inert in her mouth like a useless rock, unable to form her teacher’s name because she _forgot_ , and sometimes she is just there, unable to move, unable to do anything, really.

Like now, on the first day of school since the group left the island.

Alex tenses in her seat as the intercom buzzes, chattering away in the static as the principal delivers the morning announcements, then calls for the students to pledge allegiance — but Alex hears none of it.

White noise takes over, the sound of an untuned radio growing louder, and Alex reaches for her own, but it isn't _there_ ; her radio was thrown out to sea, lost in the currents like the USS Kanaloa.

The teacher takes notice of Alex, frozen in her chair, not standing, not placing her hand over her heart, and frowns. She frowns still when the intercom cuts out and Alex continues to sit, a living statue. She opens her mouth to call Alex’s name.

“Mrs. Redford, may I take Alex to the nurse?”

Alex twitches in her seat, sweating and swallowing, and slowly moves her eyes to her right. Her jaw unhinges slightly and her pupils constrict.

Nona sits in the desk adjacent to hers. What? Nona didn’t sit there. Nona's never sat beside her. Why was she there? Wasn’t she in the back of the class? Was she even supposed to _be_ in this class?

Nona is still talking.

“. . . was feeling faint this weekend, so I want to make sure she gets to the nurse safely. May I?”

Mrs. Redford nods, appeased with Nona’s explanation — that Alex didn’t hear — for why Alex's behavior. Nona had already explained earlier that she was worried for Alex, hence why she allowed Nona to move into her new seat, sidled beside Alex. Really, she should have put that together herself.

Alex feels an arm wrap around hers, pulling her up and into a smaller body. Dizzily, which further added credence to Nona’s excuse, Alex observes all the faces turned towards her, unfamiliar in the worst of ways, because she was supposed to _know_ these people. She has to shut her eyes for a moment to block them out.

Nona guides her down the row, picking up her bag for her, and Alex drops her eyes to the ground, stumbling as the white noise rings loudly in her ears. Her hands spasm. Nona twitches against her and soon bustles her out of class. Alex is carefully dragged a short distance away from the class, until her arm is dropped and Nona shakes her hand, hissing, flexing each digit on it.

“Jesus, Alex, what was _that_?”

Alex lifts her eyes, confused.

“You shocked the hell out of me just now. I felt like I got zapped by a doorknob. What’s going on?” Nona is staring her down, with so much genuine concern that Alex felt lost, and then Alex registers the words she had said.

Alex blinks, then lifts her hand. It was tingling. When had that started?

“It was the speakers, wasn’t it? Camena’s intercom has always had awful sound quality; never could hear bus changes. I should have known.” Nona berates herself, not so much as questioning as stating.

“How could you have known,” Alex whispers, fingers still tingling.

The girl, dressed in an oversized shirt, which may be another sign of the insecurity that plagues her, or just a general preference in clothing, lifts her head. She takes in Alex’s face, but she found no words when met with the honest, simplistic curiosity that painted Alex’s typically stoic features.

She drops her head. “I don’t know, Alex. But I feel like I should have.”

It was beginning to burn. Alex shoves her hands into her jacket, thinking, _It stings_ , and tries to absolve Nona of her guilt. “No one could have known. It’s okay.”

“It’s not — Alex, what the _hell?!_ ” Nona reaches forward, but then thinks better of it. “Your hair, it’s—”

Alex furrows her brows, feeling a tickle on her scalp. She pulls a hand out of her jacket to touch her head. She feels the strands that are pulling free from her ponytail and floating in the air, like someone took a balloon to her head and rubbed the surface against her hair vigorously, but Nona gasps at that too.

Alex yanks her fingers away when the tickling sensation intensifies and instead brings her hand into view.

Her hands are covered in tiny, bright blue lines. Lines that move, spastically darting around. Alex reels back.

Electricity is dancing on her skin.

She wants to yell, but she doesn’t.

Aloud, at least.

_What the FUCK is happening to me?! What did you do to me?!_

Nona is panicking, and Alex is stepping back, pushing her hands behind her and hugging the wall with them, afraid that she could hurt someone — hurt _Nona_ , one of the four people she has dedicated herself to saving. She cannot, _will not_ , allow herself to become a danger to her.

The Sunken don’t answer. _Very helpful, really,_ Alex remarks bitterly to herself.

Alex totters on her feet — Nona takes a step, somehow coming to the conclusion that Alex is safe, Alex won’t hurt her, Alex can’t hurt her — and Alex _runs_ because Nona _is wrong_.

* * *

Alex knows she can’t skip school — there will be questions, and no doubt Nona will spill her problem to the others. Her mom will ask things she can’t answer. A doctor and or therapist may or may not get involved.

Alex doesn’t want to deal with that anymore.

Alex also knows that, if she doesn’t figure out what’s going on with her, she won’t have a choice. She has ghosts nestled inside her body like it’s a womb for all of the unstable time demons to reside in, and she has electricity _sparking at her fingertips_. Going around like she isn’t a ticking time bomb that’s praying for government officials to go all Area 51 conspiracy agents on her is plain stupid.

So Alex runs into a bathroom several halls over, easily outrunning Nona because Alex has been doing sports, and even though Nona has been doing ballet, it just doesn’t match up with the leg strength of a girl who has been outrunning beefy guys (like Michael) during mock football games all her childhood.

She shuts the door quickly but quietly. The lights have switched on automatically, but Alex, desperate to not be caught, presses her hand against the switch. Instead of simply turning off, the electricity thrumming through Alex’s body causes it to crackle and smoke.

Running away from Nona before she could touch her was a good idea, then.

Alex sees the smoke as the light flickers and knows, even as everything goes dark and the lights go out, that if she doesn’t dispel it, the smoke detector meant to catch kids smoking will go off. She yanks her jacket off in the dark and swings it frantically through the air, wondering if it will actually help.

With Michael’s jacket whipping about, Alex reflects on her situation. Here she was, in the dark, hair standing on end, and swinging her dead brother’s jacket around because she accidentally short-circuited the light switch to the girls’ toilets with her electrified hands and didn’t want the smoke detector to go off.

_All because she can’t handle a little static._

Alex grits her teeth, and in the absolute darkness, only dispelled by a sliver of light from beneath the bathroom entrance, she catches a flash of red. Her eyes seem to adjust to the dark. Tense, she slows her swinging arms, growing enervated anyways, and looks in the direction of the alarming light source.

The only reason she knows she’s looking at the mirror is because the red light provides enough luminosity for her to see her own reflection, sharp with shadows, a crimson glow highlighting her. There are streaks of blue under her skin, throbbing, near invisible even when she places her face close to the mirror and it lights up with the red of her—

[Alex chokes on nothing.](http://gnarled-bone-ii.tumblr.com/image/156912857426)

Her eye is red. Only one, but it is red. Completely, wholly, absolutely red — the same red as a possessed Clarissa’s — the same red as the ghosts’, their forms stretching from behind her in the mirror.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispers, feeling unreal, like she is fading away. “What's happening to me?”

The Sunken watch her, flickering red orbs set in the shadowy silhouettes’ skulls and outlines glitching intermittently.

_"We. Do not. Know. Perhaps. This is. What happens when. Someone. Alive. Becomes. Like. Us.”_

Alex shuts her eyes, but the red is still there, burning even brighter behind her lit up eyelid. She opens the other and presses her palm into the offending eye, trying to stem the light she can see behind it even now. It's ultimately pointless.

She can only see the outlines of the ghosts now, with the red light streaming between her fingers like ribbons of fate. They shift, flicker, like the static of a TV tuned in to no particular channel.

It is quiet, and Alex pauses as she hears someone go by, moving to open the door. She shifts to move behind it as quietly as she can, but it only opens a crack before realizing it is too dark.

Nona?

“What? Why is it so dark?”

Not Nona.

“The light isn’t coming on?”

“No,” The door opens a little more, tentatively. “Not at all. The switch isn't working either. Come in with me?”

“Dude, I’m scared of the dark, _hell no_.”

“Ugh, fine. Let’s go to a different one, scaredy-cat.” 

“You're the one who wanted me to come in with you! Don't call me the—"

Alex doesn't know who it is, who they are. It doesn’t matter either because they shut the door, their voices slipping away with their footsteps.

Alex realizes that her heart is slamming into her chest like a battering ram. Her muscles are wound tight. She is tense, adrenaline coursing through her from the fear of being caught in a dark bathroom with her eye glowing red like Satan theirself is trying to come into the world above. Her skin feels damp, a light sheen of sweat coating her.

She pulls her hand away from her eye, looks around and heaves with nausea as the tension drains from her. It is completely dark; the glow is gone. She does not see eyes.

Was it real?

She asks herself that question too much, lately.

She clenches her hand, unclenches it, and pushes the palm upwards, towards the ceiling. She turns it over, again and again, appraising her skin in the dark. She sees no blue lines, no evidence of what Nona had seen earlier.

The bell rings.

Second period begins in five minutes, and Alex stands, debating her next move, but then realizes—

Nona has her bag.

 _Shit_.

Alex needs to grab it sooner or later, no matter what she chooses to do, and she’s not going to make Nona or Jonas lug that thing around. She won’t be a burden, even if it's as little as that.

Alex washes her face in the sink, then drags her hands down her forehead to her jaw, not wiping away the water with paper towel. She hears people milling outside the door. Someone opens it and Alex winces at the sudden light.

“Alex?”

Bodily flinching, Alex squints at the person addressing her. Her eyelashes drip water onto her cheeks and she sees the straps of her bag held out to her.

“Here.” Nona says, face full of concern. She doesn't ask, though, probably knowing now that Alex is too skittish for most of the questions she has.

Jaw clenching, Alex cautiously takes her backpack, not allowing herself to touch Nona’s fingers, and in doing so realizes that Nona does not have hers.

“You’re going to be late,” Alex murmurs, “You should go.”

“Are you ditching school?” the girl inquired, unconcerned about the fact Alex had spouted out in an attempt to escape. Nona never cared much about school anyway. She just has a better reason to skip class than ever before.

Alex remains silent.

Turning her head, Nona looks at the students going to their classes. Some are watching them, rubbernecking, but they do not linger long. Nona turns her head back to Alex.

“Are you okay?”

Alex averts her eyes.

“Come with me.” Nona offers, seeing that Alex reverted to her selective mutism. Despite Alex shuffling back to avoid her, Nona grabs her hand.

Her grip is firm, but gentle, and Alex almost wants to cry because Nona doesn’t seem worried at all about getting hurt.

“You’re going to sit by Clarissa and me next period.”

“. . . Clarissa and I,” Alex corrects, unable to help herself.

Nona looks back at her, exasperatedly, somehow fond as she says, “Whatever, _nerd_.”

The bell rings.

* * *

Mrs. Redford looks up when they come in for Nona's bag, sees Alex’s flustered, sweaty state, and gives them both a slip to excuse their tardy to their next class.

Nona takes her hand again as she guides her to her next class, which is all well and good because Alex forgot what it was, but also bad because Alex feels impossibly warm for some reason. She feels like a small puppy, even though Nona is the shortest of the group, followed by Ren, and Alex follows after Nona like she has just learned to walk.

Nona doesn’t seem to mind. They get to their class okay — the hall had mostly emptied out anyway, so Alex’s sudden difficulty in walking straight didn’t lead to her bumping into anyone — and Nona directs Alex to one of the two chairs beside a surprised Clarissa and goes to talk to the teacher, speaking quietly and handing her the note.

Alex stumbles on her way there, feeling inexplicably nervous. Clarissa narrows her eyes at her as she sits down. “That’s Nona’s seat.”

Alex stiffens, even though Clarissa hadn’t meant for her words to be accusing. Nona comes through and saves Alex from her humiliation.

“Sparky here is having some trouble, so I’m keeping an eye on her.” Nona sits on Alex’s other side.

Well, maybe not. “I’m not a child — and don’t call me _sparky._ ” Alex glares down at her desk — actually Nona’s, but Nona said to sit _here_ , by Clarissa, for some _ungodly_ reason, so she is.

Apparently she is now in protective custody. Nona has never been so invested in Alex before, and Alex does not understand it.

Clarissa straightens up, obviously interested in whatever embarrassing tale Nona had to spill. “Oh? There’s a story there, isn’t there?”

Nona looks like she wants to tell, but Alex darts her face toward her so quick that she releases a quiet squeak and knows from Alex’s expression that answering Clarissa is a clear  _do not, bucko_.

“Um, well, maybe I shouldn’t—”

“Come on,” Clarissa probes. “It can’t be because of her hair that you call her _S_ _parky_ otherwise we'd have been calling her that years ago."

Nona opens her mouth, kind of wanting to smile — because _it is_  sort of because of Alex’s hair, but not for the reason Clarissa thinks — and catches Alex gesturing at her. The girl makes a slow slicing motion across her neck with her finger.

Nona shuts her mouth.

Good. Alex didn't need Clarissa hounding her about how much more of a fuck-up she was.

Clarissa found herself annoyed at being left out but the teacher shushes the class before she can continue her queries.

The day passes without much incident beyond that, to Alex’s relief. Nona passes her off to Ren with a warning to keep an eye on her, and Jonas does it without anyone telling him to because he knows how Alex sleeps at night — with mutterings of, “no, no” and “leave is not possible” and quiet whimpers. She wakes with muffled screams that he only heard because her room is directly below his, and the floor and walls are thin because people don’t typically live in attics.

When lunch comes, Clarissa is at the door as she exits her classroom. She loops an arm between Alex’s and corrals her to the same lunch table as her and Nona, putting her between the two, and then Jonas joins, followed by Ren.

Alex does not get up to get a lunch tray, so Jonas brings her one.

“You didn’t have to,” she protests. She is not hungry.

“You didn’t eat breakfast,” he scolds her, seated across from her and kicking her ankle lightly with his boot. The school don't let him or Nona wear their beanies or toboggans on the premises, so it looks strange to the others to see him in particular without one.

Alex glances down. Her stomach does not rumble.

“You better eat,” Jonas warns her good-naturedly, but also seriously. “The money came out of my pockets, and your stomach doesn’t need to be as empty as my wallet usually is.”

“Your dad gives you the money as an allowance,” Alex snorts, but picks up the plastic spork anyways. Mystery meat, covered in spaghetti noodles, sided with applesauce and an actual apple. Her favorite, really. She scrunches her face.

Ren laughs, his tray matching hers, but with the addition of a cookie. “That’s the same face I made. Good ol' school lunches.” He picks up the cookie.

Jonas scowls. “Dude, at school?”

“Hey, I did say I took a test doped up on cough syrup. If they didn’t catch me then, why would they catch me now? ‘Sides, I know when they perform drug sweeps, and it’s usually in the locker rooms in the gym. I keep my goodies in a teacher’s fridge.”

“Whatever,” Jonas mutters, looking away from Ren’s smug expression. Alex thinks he’s embarrassed, because his ears are red.

Clarissa raises an eyebrow, elbow brushing Alex’s body when she leans forward to grab her water bottle, phone scrolling through social media in her other hand. “No way. The teacher’s never ate your special _desserts_?”

He looks uncomfortable now, short blond curls bobbing when he shrugs. “Well. . . they’re kind of in on it?”

Nona groans. “Don’t tell me it’s Mr. Gregory.”

The stoner shrugs again. “I won’t, then.”

Nona lifts her head to the ceiling as if she’s praying and Jonas actually lowers his to hide the humored grin on his face.

Alex pushes her food around with her fork, separating it when Jonas looks away so it looks like she’s nibbling on it, chewing on the side of her cheek. She feels like if she eats, it will end up as a remix of her hurling her guts into the sea, only this time in the lunchroom.

An elbow jabs her harshly when she does it a second time. Alex swallows a hiss, pulling the plastic spork from her mouth and turning to look at Clarissa, only Clarissa glares at her with intensity and emotion Alex is unused to. When Clarissa glances at the tray, then back up to Alex, Alex doesn't believe it.

 _What?_ Alex mouths.

Clarissa rolls her eyes. "Do I have to feed you myself?"

She yanks the plastic utensil away from Alex and jabs it into her food for her. She lifts it up to be level with Alex's mouth after scooping up a generous heaping of applesauce, which is usually safe to eat, even at school. "Open sesame."

Unable to help her lips parting in surprise at Clarissa’s actions, Alex should have expected that Clarissa would have taken that as an opportunity to shove the offending food into her mouth. Alex jolts back, clamping her mouth shut unconsciously to keep Clarissa from doing it, but it’s too late and now her lips are wrapped around the spork.

Clarissa lets go, looking satisfied, and returns to her phone.

Ren raises an eyebrow at the blackmail material. “Okay. . . anyways—”

“No, just shush, I’m losing faith in the faculty the more you speak,” Nona pleads, though a smile lingers on her face as she glances away from Alex.

Alex glares at them all and pulls the spork from her mouth, free of the applesauce. She swallows it sullenly. She is _not_ a child who needs to have an eye on her at all times and fed food.

With Clarissa side-eying her and Jonas watching her more carefully, Alex, with stubborn reluctance, forces herself to eat more of the applesauce, and then the apple when Ren comments that her apple is usually the first to go. It all tastes funny in her mouth, and as she chews she grows more regretful for doing so, because the Sunken are moaning at the taste inside her head.

Her stormy expression is not missed by the others.

“I heard from Nona that you weren’t feeling well,” Ren finally says, the worry on his face betraying his casual tone. Even if Alex was different and things changed between them, he still cared.

“It’s nothing,” Alex mutters. Ren is doubtful.

“Was it the announcements?” Jonas asks, because he understands.

They all do.

Alex stays quiet.

Clarissa shifts beside her and Alex can feel her warmth.

“Speaking of that,” Clarissa starts, face nonchalant, and Alex prepares herself, “you said that you repeated this several times, but then you said this time was different. _T_ _he last time_ , you said. What makes it the last? How do I know I’m not going to forget all of this because we’re just going to right back into the loop? How do I know I’m not going to get possessed _again_ , Alex?”

Alex _was not prepared._

“Clarissa!” Nona scolds, but despite that Alex knows she wants to know too. "Should you really be bringing that up now?"

“No, I," Alex intervenes gently. She didn't want Clarissa to worry, so if she had to, she'd speak. ". . . I’ve been through the loop, so I know how it works, and what causes it, and I stopped it — that is — they . . .” Alex presses a hand to her hand, realizes she is struggling. It's harder than she thought to articulate what happened in a way that would avoid inciting undue concern. “It just is. The last time.”

“ _It just is_ ,” Clarissa repeats mockingly, but almost without bite. There is a subtle fear in her tone that Alex can only detect after years of learning to decipher what causes what with these kids. “What _just is_ , Alex? How do I know they won’t take me, or anyone else, again?”

Alex drops her head and comes to the epiphany that Clarissa _needs to know_ , or she will be spending the rest of her life wondering if it matters.

“I just stopped them.”

“Okay. You stopped them. How?” she persists, turning to face Alex, no trace of her fear now, only the iron and steel that represents the harsh press of her determination for answers.

Everyone is looking at her.

No, not everyone, but _them_ , and Nona, Ren, Jonas. It feels like everyone, though. Alex directs her gaze to her lap and mutters something reluctantly.

Clarissa grabs Alex by arm, forces her to face her, but it's not like Alex is putting up much resistance to stop her.

“What was that?” Clarissa demands as Jonas warns her off and Ren shifts away, uneasy. Nona leans back, but seems ready to reach around to sway Clarissa into stopping.

“It was a deal.”

Alex stands up, steps away.

“I made a _deal_.”

Nona’s eyes widen. “The electricity—” She’s starting to put things together, and she doesn’t have all the pieces, but Alex knows it won't take long for her to start guessing.

Anxiety bloms in Alex's ribcage as she sees heads turn towards their table.

Clarissa goes to stand up too. Alex wants to beg her to sit down. “Where are you going?”

Alex grabs her bag, does not answer, and picks up her tray. Everyone is standing, everyone is staring. She forces her trembling legs to walk to the trash. She is decades older, but she feels like a child. They are following her.

She is making a scene, but she doesn’t know how to stop it. Her lungs ache.

She stumbles into the trash can. Her bag falls.

Alex falls.

She finds herself focused on the fact that the tray with the gross mystery meat made it into the trash can. That means it won’t end up on her.

Or. . . maybe not.

The trash can tilts and falls above Alex. She can't tell where it goes, the panic is too much.

She struggles to breathe, face pressed against the tiles and noise erupting around her; she feels someone roll her over. She is facing the ceiling now, but her vision is a distorted tunnel. Small hands, large hands, she is crowded until she hears someone say to clear out, _give her space_.

_"Breathe, Alex!"_

She cannot stay awake, and she sinks, drowning in the ocean of sleep.


	5. it builds under my skin (let's pretend)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex falls, but she seems to rise just as quickly. Seems to.
> 
> Wake up, Alex. You are the storm, Jupiter rising. 
> 
> Watch where you touch, because it builds while you play pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birthday wasn't too long ago. Huzzah, me. My gift? Nosebleeds and headaches. This is why Alex hits her head, because if my head hurts, I want who I write to suffer too. And please, if you see anything that can be improved about this fic, please review or msg me. :P
> 
> OH! I made a cover of sorts for this story. I used Adobe Illustrator for it, and I like how it turned out. If you're interested in seeing how I envisioned the mirror scene, and how red eyed Alex looks, here's the link to check it out:
> 
> http://gnarled-bone-ii.tumblr.com/image/156912857426

Alex hit her head when she fell. Soon, she stops wheezing and she lays still.

While they yell for help, circling their friend helplessly and getting on their knees, the cafeteria falls into useless silence. Nona subconsciously laments that their generation is one of rubberneckers and bystanders as they watch with interest, like it’s a show just for them, as she stops the others from moving Alex beyond rolling her onto her back. They don’t know the protocol for this sort of situation, and Nona doesn’t want more damage being done when someone only has the intention to help.

Quickly, the vice principal comes up, a thin man who was assigned to watch the students during lunch, and he radioed in on his walkie-talkie, calling for the nurse while making us step away from Alex. “Stay back and then stay where you are,” he tells them, and it’s loud enough for everyone else to know that it was meant for the “audience” too, even though they weren’t planning to leave their front row seats to a potential tragedy.

Clarissa nearly snaps at him, but Nona loops her arm around hers and tug her back harshly. Her attitude wouldn’t help.

The vice principal examines Alex carefully. She is bleeding, a small wound on her temple that leaks red continuously. She appears unconscious, for her face is lax.

 _She’s fine, she’s going to be fine,_ Nona tells herself.

“Can you hear me?” he asks, as if it isn’t obvious that she can’t, and gently tries to rouse her by tapping on her shoulder. He repeats himself. There is no movement, nor a reply. Grim-faced, he grabs her wrist, pressing his hand against an artery, and then puts a finger near her nose.

He checks for breathing, a pulse, and their breathing stops.

“Oh, fuck, _Alex_ ,” Ren whispers, near hysterics, even as the man confirms that Alex is still breathing. Jonas’ jaw is tight and he tells the man he is calling his parents—Alex’s parents, their parents. He steps farther away from the scene but still hovers in such a way that he can swoop in the moment there’s a sign of something going wrong—not that he can do much.

A minute, more, has passed, and the nurse shows up while the vice principal watches over Alex carefully. She has a wheel chair, a blanket, and a bottle of water with her.

Alex is still out, and remains so as the nurse requests to be briefed on what had transpired before Alex fainted.

“She was emotional,” Nona tells her weakly, feeling like she’s back on the island all over again, watching her friends get possessed. “We were talking about. . . something upsetting, and she went to leave, but she collapsed and she was hyperventilating.”

“Has she been eating?” the nurse asks them after instructing the man beside her to call 911. Nona’s stomach fills with dread, and she’s sure the sentiment is shared by her friends.

“Not much,” Clarissa informs her, quietly, an uncertain undertone in her voice. Nona glances at her. There was no more anger, no rage—only fear and concern as she watches the nurse—no, that was wrong.

Clarissa watches Alex, and Nona wonders if she’s sees Michael instead.

The nurse begins checking Alex’s temperature in the meantime, and when satisfied with that she elevates Alex’s feet with a cushion. Once her feet are up, she works on pulling Alex’s arms out of her jacket, moving it off of her. She puts the blanket on her right afterwards.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ren asked fretfully. “Like, is it because she was not eating enough? Or is she sick?”

Jonas pauses in the background, going quiet to listen. Nona hears the phone burst with noise at his ear. He ignores it.

“Perhaps.” the nurse responds, slowly. “Either way, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside. You really shouldn’t be too close to this,” the nurse advises, glancing at the vice principal. Nona knows what they’re thinking. _Why are they here?_

Clarissa’s angry again. “That’s _our_ friend!”

“My sister,” Jonas adds, threat lying in the way he forces the words out, like he’d rather bite on someone than be civil. He is still on the phone—he’s on the line with Alex’s mom now, having already called his father. Nona’s sure she’s driving with the phone tucked against her ear even now, even more protective over her daughter since the passing of her son.

The nurse quiets for a moment. She looks up from Alex, from the gloved hand that presses down on Alex’s wound with a bandage and the other that keeps her head up. Maybe she sees something in their expression, in their eyes, but she lets them be with only a warning to stay back and keep quiet.

It doesn’t take long after that before they all hear the telltale sirens of an ambulance whooping outside the school. How much time has passed?

The ambulance takes Alex, limp and quiet, away, and they skip school to follow.

* * *

_“Wake up. Alex. You. Must. Wake up.”_

_But I’m not sleeping._

_“You. Are.”_

_No, I’m. . . I. . ._

_Where am I?_

Sinking. That is all she understands, all she feels, for a moment. Then there is water, a dark heaviness that swirls, and something is sucking Alex down. The currents pushes at her limbs.

She can’t swim, can’t, can’t save him—

The depths flash—no, the surface does, and she knows it is the surface because she looks down to see that a ship is sinking, debris floating along with it. She kicks hard, looking back up, struggling in vain to break through the barrier that keeps her from air, but—

She is pulled down, and frothy, vital oxygen leaves her mouth as she stares near sightlessly at the dimming surface. She is weakening, and she looks down at her death to see herself, and she. . .

She is a red-eyed storm.

The storm grins at her, and the electricity lights up her veins, and _she is going to_ —

 _Wake up._ Her vision distorts, ripped away from her. She can’t comprehend what’s she’s seeing for a moment, so she blinks rapidly as if it will help, or change it the next time she opens her eyes to something she knows.

“Alex? Baby?”

She turns her head. As it turns out, her head aches. She blinks again, trying to place the face.

“Mom?”

Her mom cradles her hand gently and brushes her hair away from her face. Alex feels her mom’s hand brush against something wrapped around her head, but only slightly. She raises her own hand to touch it, but her mom stops her.

“Don’t. You hit your head Alex, hard enough that you split open the skin and needed stitches. They wrapped a bandage around it to keep it dry.” her mom says quietly, peering into Alex’s confused eyes. “You’ve been asleep for hours. Do you remember?”

Alex looks around. She is on a hospital bed, and monitors beep near quietly around her. She strains, and then she regrets it as she remembers everything.

It shows on her face, because her mom asks her a new question—one she doesn’t want to answer.

“Alex, what’s been going on? What happened?”

Alex shakes her head and answers softly, “I just tripped.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Alex goes quiet. _If I can't lie, I can't say anything at all._

Her mom’s grip tightens on her hand. “They told me you haven’t eaten lately, and I’ve noticed you hardly touch your dinner. I hardly hear your voice in my house anymore, Alex. So, just. . . please. Answer me. _Please,_ tell me what’s going on. Tell me what you’re feeling, and tell me how I can help.”

 _What’s wrong with me?_ Alex looks away. _Everything should be okay now. I saved them. There shouldn’t be anymore problems anymore, so why?_

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Alex says, finally, the only truth she can tell.

Her mom’s expression contorts into one of helpless frustration and hurt. Slowly, she releases Alex hand and puts in her lap, entangling it with her other hand. There is a pause as she considers Alex’s answer.

“If you won’t answer me, maybe you’ll talk to someone else.”

Alex blinks. “What?”

“A therapist. Or a psychologist. If you’re depressed, maybe it will help.”

Alex freezes and pushes herself up slowly. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“You have to talk to someone, Alex!” Remembering herself, her mom lowers her voice. “If you need help, you just have to ask for it and I will, I promise.”

“I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

“Is it the marriage? Jonas? Your stepfather? Are you being bullied?”

Alex almost laughs, but it’s too surreal. “No. It’s nothing like that.”

“Is it Ren then? You went on that trip during the break. Did you get in a fight?”

 _Did we? Sometimes. Wait, other times._ “No.”

“Then. . . the two girls.”

“No.”

“Alex, work with me,” her mom nearly begs, rubbing her face.

“There’s nothing to work on.”

She reaches a breaking point. “Alex, is it nightmares? Are you having nightmares about Michael again?”

Alex stops. “What?”

“Jonas told me,” her mom confesses. “He could hear you, since the attic is above your room. You haven’t been sleeping well. Alex, you should have told me.”

Her blood is cold, and she doesn’t know if she feels betrayal or frustration. “Mom, there's nothing to tell—”

There is a knock. A pause as the conversation halts, and then a click as the door opens. Alex had forgotten, for just a moment, that she was in the hospital.

It is a woman. She is a doctor, judging by her coat, and not a nurse. She approaches Alex’s bedside, opposite of Alex’s mother who observes carefully. “Hello, I’m Dr. Harvey. How are you feeling, Alex? Do you need anything? Water?”

Alex examines her for a moment. She glances at her mom. “No, thank you. I’m feeling okay.”

Alex’s mom throws her a disbelieving look.

“Really? You took a nasty fall. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I tripped.”

Dr. Harvey raises a brow and comments, as if to a stubborn child, “According to you brother and friends, you got upset and appeared to be having an attack of sorts.”

 _Traitors._ Alex frowns, then. “I tripped and knocked the wind out me, and that’s it. They’re being drama queens.”

There isn’t a reply immediately as Dr. Harvey inspects the monitors hooked up to Alex. “Do you feel any pain or dizziness? Have a headache? Blurred vision? Trouble remembering anything?”

Alex tilts her head, concentrating. “Just sore around the head. I think that’s just from the cut though.”

"Alright, okay. Well, good news is that you can be discharged, but you could have a concussion from the impact with the floor and the bleeding, and scans showed some minor blood clotting around that area, so you need to watch out for symptoms such as nausea, headaches, vomiting, dizziness, and etcetera. We’ve prescribed you an anticoagulant to break the blood clot down since it’s not serious enough to require surgery.” Dr. Harvey reports, peering down at Alex’s mother. “Don’t forget to pick that up from the pharmacy.”

Alex’s mother nods.

“For the first twenty-four hours, let someone know if you’re going to take a nap, or really, just have someone watch you, so they can wake you in around two to three hours to check and make sure you don’t lapse into a coma.”

Her mother’s brown face grows pale with worry, but the good doctor doesn’t stop there. “You need to eat more and drink more fluids—you were dehydrated when they brought you in, and according to what your mother said, you haven’t been eating much, which is likely a cause for your current condition.

“Also, keep that head wrapped and dry for the first twenty-four hours. Change the bandage periodically, and avoid getting your head wet if you have to take a bath or shower. And if your condition deteriorates, you're to come back here. Got it all?”

Absorbing the information, Alex nods.

“Alright, well, you can get dressed. We’ll bring the wheelchair out.”

Alex frowns. “I don’t—”

“Whether you need it or not, you’re sitting in it.” Dr. Harvey cuts in, and just as quickly steps out. Before shutting the door, she pokes her head in. “By the by, your friends are still sitting out in the waiting room on this floor.”

“What?” Alex bursts as the door shuts, maneuvering herself, finally, to stand. “Have they just been sitting out there this whole time?”

Alex’s mother blinks as Alex fiddles with the patient garb she dons. “Oh, yes. They came in once, but gave me privacy when I and your stepfather got here. Jonas is out there too. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Your stepfather is getting something from the vending machine in the lobby and—here. Let me help.”

Alex’s mom stands, locking the door and helping Alex take off the hospital gown. Soon, Alex is dressed in the same t-shirt, jeans, and boots that she was brought in with. Looking around with increasing upset, feeling naked even then, she finally turns to her mother.

“Where is my jacket?” Alex asks, scowling.

“Jonas has it.”

That’s all Alex needs to hear. She moves to the door, but a wave of vertigo throws her off and makes her tilt. She shakes it off before her mother thinks to say anything and leaves her hospital room.

“Alex, you’re not supposed to leave the room—and you’re doing it anyway.” Alex’s mother sighs and considers going after her, but knows that Alex's protectiveness over her brother's jacket is unmatched. “That girl. . . I guess I’ll just sit here and wait for the wheelchair by myself then.”

* * *

The small flatscreen lodged in one corner of the ceiling plays a soundless, subtitled Spongebob Squarepants. Ren seems to be the only one paying any attention to it, although his focus on the show is scattered anyways. He’s the first to see her, due to him glancing around the most.

“Alex! Girl, you’re up!” he exclaims. A passing nurse shushes him, and then just glares at Jonas who exclaims his sister’s name just as loudly as the stoner did. “How do you feel?”

Alex shrugs, staring at her jacket, which is draped over Jonas’ shoulder. He notices, notices how small and vulnerable she is, and hands it to her carefully. “Here, I kept it safe for you.”

She latches onto it quickly and drapes it over her shoulders, sticking her arms through the sleeves. “Thanks, Jonas.”

No sooner than that does Nona seem to try and stick her own hands through the jacket, her arms going around Alex’s waist under her jacket and mimicking a koala in a sweater. Alex is too startled to hug back immediately as Nona presses her nose into the column of Alex’s neck.

Alex is so busy trying to wrap her injured noggin and arms around Nona that she doesn’t expect the hard flick to her nose from Clarissa. She flinches and looks up at Clarissa, whose eyes are blazing with the same inner fire that she burned with when she blamed Alex for Michael.

“You need to _stop_ scaring the shit out of us.”

Well, perhaps not the very _same_ fire, but Alex was still certain that if Clarissa could slap her without possibly exacerbating her injuries, she would.

Jonas, for once, agrees with Clarissa. “Yeah, we’d really appreciate it.”

Alex raises her hand, petting Nona’s toboggan covered head. Even the small girl has her own words to say—words that ghost hot along the slope of her neck. “And stop running off.”

“And eat more.” Ren adds, remembering his interaction with the nurse.

It takes Alex some time to process that these are not simply demands, but gestures of concern that her friends are making. She looks down, not quite at Nona, but at the floor. She can see her shadow. She glances up with a simple, “I’ll try,” departing from her lips.

Before further conversation can begin, they hear rubber rolling leisurely down the hall and Alex’s mother and stepfather calling for her.

Nona doesn’t seem to want to let go, so Alex turns her head to see the dreaded wheelchair and Dr. Harvey’s exasperated face, accompanied by her mother’s and stepfather’s own drawn out expressions. “You were suppose to stay in the room, you know. Preferably, in bed.” Dr. Harvey comments.

Alex shrugs as well as she could, not deigning to reply. Nona releases her only when the wheelchair is right beside her and Alex feels the chill of her absence immediately. _Hospitals are always annoyingly cold_ , she thinks to herself as if that was the only reason, and she glares at the wheelchair.

“Is this really necessary?” Alex asks. “As you can see, I can walk fine.” She lifts her leg, wiggling her foot as evidence. “See? Perfectly capable.”

“I’ll sit in it,” Ren raises his hand jokingly, but seems serious about the offer anyhow.

Dr. Harvey’s eyes convey her amusement. “Sorry, but it’s only for official, _stubborn_ patients. Now sit, kiddo.”

“Just sit in the chair, Alex,” Alex’s mom advises, amused, but everyone knows parent’s suggestions are really just orders.

Ren pouts and Alex sighs, put out, as she turns and drops into the wheelchair. Without noticing, she adopts a sulky expression. _I’m older than you. Probably._

“Here; I’ll wheel her.” At the offer, Dr. Harvey releases the wheelchair into Jonas’ care. He takes care not to bump her into anything or anyone, or turn a corner sharply.

Soon, Alex is being rolled out to her mother’s truck, formerly Michael’s, while her stepfather goes to jump into his car. As soon as she’s out the hospital’s sliding doors, she jumps out of the chair, masking her dizziness as she does so.

“Evening already?” Alex mutters under her breath, wondering just how long she was unconscious. Raising her voice as she leaves her guardians behind to talk to Dr. Harvey for further instructions and reminders of what to do, she asks her friends if they came over after school let out.

“We ditched.” the tall redhead admits without any compunctions, a lazy, smug tilt to her lips.

“What she said.” Ren cheerfully adds. “Got in Clarissa’s car and basically tailgated the ambulance the whole way, just for you.”

Jonas cringes, eyes narrowing in on Clarissa. “I thought we’d get pulled over. The paramedics looked out the window at us every now and then, looking like they expected to have to call another ambulance.”

Clarissa snorts.

“They can’t blame us,” Nona says strongly. “You were in there, after all."

Alex doesn’t know what to say, besides, “You’re all crazy.”

“Nah, you the only loon here.”

She laughs at Ren’s quick response, surprised that she was still capable of doing so with actual, lighthearted humor.

“Maybe.”

They’re looking at her, but it’s Nona who says it.

“We’re glad you’re okay, Alex.”

Her parents’ conversation with Dr. Harvey seems to be over, since they’re now calling for Alex and Jonas to get in the truck, as Jonas’ stepfather is going back to work. She glances at her mom, nodding in acknowledgment of their words, before turning back.

Alex is at ease for the moment, for some reason. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have to go to school for the next two days, courtesy of a doctor’s excuse, or maybe it’s because it looks like her friends are willing to put the conversation that caused this on hold. Either way, she doesn’t feel like she’s lying when she says, “I’m glad I’m okay, too. . . Thanks for coming, guys.”

“Like we wouldn’t. But. . . seriously, try to not to do it again.” Clarissa says, turning her back and walking to her car. Alex supposed that was her way of saying goodbye. Nona and Ren follow her after waving their own farewells, or rather, “see you later’s”.

Alex hops into the truck, helped up by Jonas even though she didn’t ask for it. “Thanks, bucko,” she teases.

He clambers in after her, sitting and then looking at her thoughtfully. “You seem. . . less angsty.”

Alex shrugs. “Guess it’s just you guys making it hard to be. Don't expect my teenage angst to be gone for long, though."

He grins boyishly. “Bet it’s our charm, innit?”

“What charm?” she scoffs. “You’re a clingy bunch of kids who—”

Alex’s mom cuts in. “Seatbelts.”

“Yes, Mom,” Alex replies dutifully. Jonas follows suit, but he doesn’t call her mom, at least not yet.

The truck starts with a rumble once their seatbelts are clipped on. The steady rumble acts as a catalyst, working to make Alex drowsy. A minute later, her head is drooping as her mom puts on a country song, low in volume. It only serves to lull her further into accepting sleep.

“Tired?” Jonas asks.

“Yeah.”

“You can sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“‘Kay. Thanks, Jonas.”

“No problem.”


	6. forget the rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse for Alex, and, by association, the rest of the squad. Question is, is it the concussion?
> 
> Or the Sunken?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Insomination for the wonderful ideas they've shared with me (which I will use in the future, but for now, angst!), and for letting me vent when something went wrong! They've been very encouraging, and have even written their own story with a tortured superhero Alex, so if you have the time, go check out "Take a piece with you."!
> 
> Also I'm an inconsistent or repetitive little bugger, probably. Fite meh. 
> 
> (Actually, no, thanks for putting up with me! But yeah. Fite meh—preferably with pillows.)

Alex really wants to snap at either her mom or Jonas but she knows they just care. That's why they wake her up.

Every. Bleeding. Hour. 

"Take a sip, at least."

"Jonas, if I drink  _anymore_ water I'll explode. No."

"Not even if I ask nicely?"

"Nope."

Jonas sighs, setting aside the water bottle as Alex nests on the couch, watching television—or pretending to, because she keeps closing her eyes and drifting off.

"You hungry?" 

Alex opens her eyes blearily. A glance at the clock shows that it's twelve past two in the morning. "Tired," she answers drowsily, and with a certain rasp of someone not all that awake. Her feet press into the side of Jonas's thigh, toes tucked tightly into the blankets he draped over her. It's warm in the room, he tried to say, but she feels cold all the time, so really there was no choice. 

Her brother glances at her sympathetically, not that she sees, because she's shut her eyes again and is dropping off faster by the second. She's been doing okay, so far, nothing unusual to report.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

He pulls it out and doesn't recognize the number. He opens the (1) unread message anyways.

 _ **How's Alex?**_ the text reads.

He narrows his eyes.  ** _New phone, who dis?_**

 _ **Idiot. You gave us your number in the car.**  _came the reply.

Oh. He knows that tone, even over text.

 _ **Clarissa?**  _he types in hesitantly.

A new text box pops up immediately.

**_Doy._ **

Well, then.

 _ **She's fine, so far. Tired. We wake her up every now and then to check on her or try to get her to eat or drink. She drank some water. Eat, not so much.**  _he answers, thinking back on how Alex continuously denied the food, stating a lack of appetite. She wasn't lying, he knows, because he feels the same way, but he forces himself to eat anyways. She's more stubborn, though.

 ** _Shove it down her throat._** Clarissa texts.

**_Um. No._ **

**_Wuss._**  she responds.

Jonas sighs.  ** _Why do you care, anyways, though? You gave her so much shit that night._**

He sends it, and waits. Several minutes pass.

Clarissa doesn't text back.

 _Whatever,_ he huffs, throwing his head back and returning his gaze to the TV, watching  _Grace and Frankie_ on Netflix. Alex's too exhausted and doped up on meds to stir, let alone have nightmares, so he lets her rest.

At least for another hour, that is.

* * *

There's a foul taste in her mouth and something presses into her cheek. Her eyelids, burdened with sleep, weigh too much for her to lift, she decides, and she turns, snuffling into the woven material that she dimly recognizes as the couch. It's a futile effort because the prodding persists. Someone's speaking lowly, gently, trying to rouse her.

"G'way, M'm," Alex mumbles incoherently. Jonas wasn't here—he'd gone to school after Alex's mom said she would stay home to watch over her, so it definitely wasn't him.

"You're really out of it aren't you, Sparky?"

That. . . wasn't her mom.

Alex flinches. "Snrk?"

Hair messy and sticking to her cheeks, Alex blearily peers over her shoulder, narrow-eyed due to the invasive light. Her vision is blurred, but she makes out the telltale toboggan Nona wears right above her and the red sweeping lines of Clarissa's hair off to the side. As she blinks, clearing away some of the sleep, Alex can see the amusement on their faces. Their unexpected presence launches all her mental and physical faculties into prime alertness. She pushes herself up, one hand pushing the fading blue locks of her hair out of her eyes. "What. Why're you here?"

Nona, leaning up from her bent position over Alex, lets the finger responsible for the poking fall, hands returning to her hips. "Isn't it obvious?"

Alex squints at them, scratching her shoulder and then pulling up the sleeve of Michael's too large t-shirt when it slid down, revealing her collarbone. "No," she says, bluntly, curious as to why Nona's pupils dilated, a flicker of something in her darkened gaze. Had Alex annoyed her?

Clarissa turns away.

"We were worried, idiot." Clarissa says. "And we're going to keep worrying until you get better."

"You're rude," Alex responds, finding it far too early to go into banter with the older girl ( _younger,_  Alex reminds herself), let alone at all. She shifts up more, rising off her elbows and slumping forward. She swings her legs off the couch cushions and onto the carpet, Nona backing away to let her do so.

The redhead shrugs shamelessly. "Oh, so you've finally noticed."

"C'mon, guys," Nona implores. She glances between the two, exasperated, before looking back down at Alex. "Alex, how are you feeling? Up for lunch?"

"Lunch?" How long had Alex been sleeping, woken up every so hour by a concerned step-brother or parent?

"It's past two." Nona reports. "So, lunch?"

Alex glances at the clock on the wall, ticking, unimpeded by anything. "Oh. No, thank you."

"Too bad," Clarissa says, finally manuevering a bag that had previously gone unnoticed towards Alex. She sets it on the coffee table. "You're going to eat anyways. We have tacos."

"I said—"

"I heard what you said, I just choose to pretend it was what I wanted to hear." Clarissa states matter-of-factly, routing through the bag for a wrapped taco that she tosses onto the spot beside Alex. A second later, a pack of hot sauce also lands on the cushions. Alex scowls.

"Look, I'm not—" but the spicy redhead's folded arms and disapproving expression, followed up by Nona's pout, makes Alex trail off into a sigh. "Fine."

"Yay," Clarissa cheers dryly as Alex reluctantly retrieves the taco and sauce packet, checking the receipt attached for what was in it.

"It's what you like, right?" Nona asks uncertainly, plopping beside Alex with her own wrap. Clarissa sits beside her, appearing disinterested even as she stares at Alex when Nona asks the question.

Alex looks up, feeling odd. "Um. Yes. . . How did you know what I liked?"

Nona shrugs, eblow lightly grazing Alex's ribs, garnering a shiver from the time looper. "Ren."

"There's another in there," Clarissa points out, gesturing to the bag with a taco. "I expect you to eat that one too."

Alex huffs, but only unwraps her unexpected lunch with clumsiness. ". . .Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome," Nona chirrups, while Clarissa repeats it in a far more smug tone. They eat their food in silence, Clarissa wordlessly placing a beverage that was of course Alex's preferred one. Alex's mom comes in unnoticed, only to silently back out when she realizes that Alex is in good hands, shaking her head as she goes.

Clarissa's presence, settled so close to Alex, reminds her of her son.

"So, how  _are_  you feeling, Alex?" Nona repeats, hair brushing across Alex's arm when she turns her head.

Alex chews, for a moment, and then, swallowing visibly, lowers her taco. "Tired."

"Besides that."

Frowning, Alex turns her head to see two faces peering at her. Clarissa, over Nona's head, narrows her eyes and tilts her head. Nona just peers up, nibbling on her lip. "I. . . don't know what you want me to say. I feel fine."

Clarissa sighs. "How's your head, dingus?"

Alex makes to touch the bandage, but thinks better of it. Her head throbs with a soft pressure, but it feels like headache more than anything. "Tender, I guess." Blinking, Alex drops her hand, realizing she never put it down. "I might have to change the bandage? I don't know. I can't remember exactly what the doctor said."

"We'll help," Nona offers immediately, standing. Clarissa does the same. 

"It's alright—I'll find where they are," Clarissa says, glancing at Alex. "You stay here with Sparky."

Nona nods in agreement, sitting, while Alex scowls at the nickname that she did not consent to. "'Kay."

Clarissa glances at Alex thoughtfully before striding away in search of Alex's mother. Nona settles back on the couch, now far closer to Alex than before even though there's more room with Clarissa's absence. Their thighs touching, Alex stiffens when Nona rests her head carefully on Alex's shoulder. Her chestnut eyes dart down, only seeing Nona's brown toboggan and the dark, shiny locks cascading down from it, acting as a barrier that prevented Alex from seeing the smaller girl's face.

With no further movement, the tension in Alex's body melts away. The TV is off still, but the silence is not uncomfortable. Nona's warmth bleeds into Alex like color, making the dark-skinned girl's cheeks burn, darken with the heat that she's not sure what to make of. The lamp by the couch is on, setting the room dimly aglow, the natural lighting taking care of the rest.

Nona moves, minutely, even closer; she breaks the silence. "Are you. . . really okay, Alex?"

Breathing through her nose, Alex shuts her eyes, unable to not be annoyed by the constant concern, even while touched. "Yes."

"Alex."

"I'm  _fine."_

Nona turns her head, settling her chin on Alex's shoulder and  _glaring_. "Then why did you run? Why did you faint, if you're so _fine?_ You can't keep avoiding hard question, Alex, not when we care. We have to talk about this."

Alex grits her teeth and whips her head around. Her nose brushes Nona's and she rears back, but even with her cheeks blooming with that stupid fire that's lighting her up, and Nona's pale face marked by the very same blush, Alex says her piece. "No, we don't. I'm doing great, better than fine! You, Ren, Jonas, and even Clarissa, for whatever reason, might not think so, but I  _am_. We're finally off that goddamn island—how can I be anything but fine?! Why do you even care?! You hardly even _know me_."

Her friend's face scrunches with aggravation, lips pulling slightly to show a sliver of white. Nona grabs Alex's arm, a move to keep Alex still and to steady herself. "That's just it, Alex," she begins. "We don't need a reason, because we know _you_  care about us enough to put yourself in danger—to do whatever you did to get us out of there, even if you won't tell us what _that_ is. You don't have to be fine. You don't have to be okay—and you definitely don't have to pretend that you are."

"Why won't you let it go!"

A jagged growl splinters the air. Nona pushes herself back as Alex bares her teeth, bearing down on the girl with a sudden rage, its origins unknown to Alex. Ready to scream out yet another  _I'm perfectly fine!_ Alex pauses when she catches sight of Nona's expression.

She is petrified.

Of Alex.

Of the red in Alex's eyes, casting a glow on Nona's face, a harsh, piercing beacon in the pupils of her terrified friend's brown eyes.

And Alex didn't expect it to  _hurt so much._

Alex pulls back so fast, trying to create as much distance between the two as possible. 

She falls off the couch.

" _Fuck!_ " Alex yelps, hitting her already damaged head on the thinly carpeted living room floor when she failed to catch herself.

Nona leaps off the cushions, all terror of Alex replaced with terror  _for_ Alex. "Alex!"

Two sets of footsteps come down the stairs, thudding loudly. Alex hisses at the piercing sensation resulting from landing on her head. Nona kneels by her, tenderly helping her up.

"What the hell is going on?" Clarissa asks as Nona frantically apologizes.

Alex pushes herself up on her butt. "My fault," she lets out, one hand clutching her head and an eye shut in discomfort. "Fell off the couch."

"No, I—" Nona interjects as Alex's mother comes near, pure worry etched on her features, on everyone's features aside from Alex.

"It's s'okay," Alex says, dropping the hand gingerly holding her head to grab Nona's hand. She knows guilt. She feels it even now. "It's fine."

Nona viciously mutters, "I'm sick of that word," even as she squeezes Alex's fingers tightly.

Alex lets out her weakest laugh yet. Her head throbs more. "I'll try to stop saying it, I guess."

"Let's get you up," Alex's mom says, leaning down to grab Alex's other hand.

"I can stand on my own," Alex states, but when she does, she wobbles slightly, dizzy. 

Clarissa hovers close, holding the bandages. "Can you?"

"Yep," Alex affirms, then, stumbling, plops onto the couch like a fish. "Nope."

"Let me see your head, Alex," her mom orders. Alex picks herself up, turning her head towards her mother so she can unwrap the material tightly woven around Alex's stitched wound. She does so with complete and utter caution. When Alex's wound is revealed, her mom lets out a sigh of relief. "Well, you didn't tear the stitches, but your noggin is going to be bruised."

Alex huffs, pushing a lock of blue behind her ear. "Great."

"Can you not be a hazard to yourself for ten seconds, Alex?" Clarissa jokes while being completely serious.

"I dunno," the girl in question replies. "That might be too much time for my delicate physique to handle."

"Pfft," Clarissa snorts. "As if any part of you can be described as delicate."

"I'll have you know my daughter is a lovely flower ready to blossom," Alex's mom interrupts, mock indignantly even as she takes the bandages from Clarissa.

Alex groans. "Mooom. No."

"Shush and turn your head this way."

"Fine."

"Alex," Nona nudges her.

"Whoops, sorry. I mean okay."

* * *

They finish their tacos. There's less than an hour left before Jonas and Ren get out of school, and Alex wonders if she'll be getting a visit from the fluffy blond stoner too. Stomach cramping from the food and nature's call finally ringing in her ears, she excuses herself to use the bathroom.

Clarissa and Nona stare after her.

"She's definitely not fine."

"I never want to hear that word again, but yep."

Clarissa smirks and leans back into the couch, before the quirk of her lips droops into a frown. "What actually happened?"

Nona, settled on the other end of the sofa, folds her hands in her lap and fidgets with her fingers. "I was being pushy, and Alex got angry."

"Angry enough to throw herself off the couch like a dying whale?" Clarissa retorts. When Nona doesn't reply, instead staring down at her hands with an unreadable expression, the redhead's eyebrows furrow into concern. "Nona? What's up?"

". . . Clarissa, her eyes turned red." 

Clarissa's stomach drops.

". . .No. No," she says, voice lowering into a whispers as she straightens her posture, shaking her head. "No. _Fuck,_ Nona, no!"

"It's true!" Nona whispers just as quietly back, twisting her head so fast that her locks whip into her face. "I think, I think Alex. . . she said she made a deal. Remember? Before she passed  _out_."

"This is not  _happening_ ,  _Nona!_ This has to be a fucking joke! Alex is not. . . infested with those fucking things!" Clarissa snaps, eyes wide in disbelief and anger.

"M-maybe she's not, okay? But whatever it is, it has to do with them. The ghosts did something to her, or maybe it's just a side effect of being in the loops for so long, but Alex isn't doing well." Nona says lowly, scooting closer and reaching out to touch Alex's arm. "She. . . scared me, Clarissa, and it  _scared_  her. I don't think. . . if those ghosts or whatever. . . are with her, that she's possessed by them. She just. . . can't help it. Control it, whatever _it_ is."

Clarissa's head drops into her hands, her body slouching. "Jesus, what the fuck. Nona, you don't  _know_. What if those things are inside of her? What do we do? What if they. . ." Clarissa clenches her eyes shut, recalling the drop, the crunch, the loops that she went through when she played the puppet for the ghosts. That feeling of wanting to listen, to do as they commanded until eventually she just became a thought in the back of their head. She became a subconsciousness that was slowly squashed out, hardly feeling anything, save for that awful feeling of nonexistence and rage and _fear_ , making her want it to end faster, or to be pulled back into reality, back to the body that was hers from the beginning yet stolen from her. 

Nona glances up and her wide gaze stops Clarissa from saying anything more.

Clarissa wearily and cautiously turns around, Nona's words making her expect stop lights glaring down at her, but they're Alex's eyes, glimmering curiously. 

Alex gives a lost, sheepish smile. Her hands drip water on the floor.

_Why didn't she dry them?_

"Hey Clarissa, um. . . Nona, right? Have you seen Michael?"

Nona stares, horrorstruck.

For the third time that day, the first being when Alex yelled, Clarissa's stomach drops, and she can only think of the water, dripping on the floor.


End file.
